Some Things
by Ezra Scarlet
Summary: A "Holes" Oneshot Fanfiction. Kissing Kate Barlow's story, from her point of view. Because some things are broken beyond prepare.


I never paid much attention to the men of the village. I much preferred to keep my eyes set on the things that really mattered. Like, the little girl who could now recite her ABC's without the aid of an adult, or the little boy who when he smiled, his cheeks dimpled ever so slightly, like craters carved out from the surface of the moon. Their laughter was infectious and pure, a symphony of sounds on a warm summer lit day. So no, I was not all that interested in the men of the village, more so interested in enabling my own maternal instincts.

What I did see, though, scared me. Belt buckles pulled too tight across overblown bellies, greasy hair slicked back with sweat, beady eyes full of greed and want. No one really cares to hear about my fears, though. About how "the butchers gaze lingered just a little bit too long," or "the man whose leer sent shivers racking through my body." Who would care about any of that? I'm a woman. Supposed to be seen, not heard, and used to fill the emptiness that surrounded some men. Simply put, I was a possession, an object, much like the small schoolhouse which I like to frequent.

But then Sam came. And wow, if he wasn't the handsomest ray of sunshine to ever cross my dreary days. "I can fix that," he was so fond of saying. At times, I got the feeling he wasn't always talking about the schoolhouse. And so, peaches were exchanged for onions, them inviting a new flavour into my life I never even knew existed.

I was delusional. I should've known better. A black man and white woman? Never. Blasphemous! But somehow, amongst the warm caress of hands or the telling smile upon his lips, I managed to forget. And so I thought nothing of the consequences this would bring crashing down upon us, but only of Sam's eyes on mine, rough hands caressing my cheeks, thinking only of the stark contrast we must provide against each other, loving the sense of safety I felt when with him.

I should've known better.

Crackling flames charged up to meet me, wrath and anger their fuel. My screams went unheard, as did my cries. The flames danced across white deckings and smashed glass, and as the schoolhouse went up in flames, I felt my heart burn with it.

"Sheriff!" I cried, "They're burning down the schoolhouse. Help, please!"

My panic momentarily hid the smell of alcohol. When I finally registered it, however, I was too late to stop the sheriff from advancing on me.

A kiss, I refused. I wanted to scream and bite and shout. At his stating that they would be hanging Sam, however, I ran, my legs not quite long enough or fast enough to carry me the distance they needed to go.

I was just in time to watch them put a bullet through his head.

Years passed, and with it my life. I plundered and stole and murdered, my new best friend a surge of adrenaline, a bottle of jack always on hand, a pistol my constant companion.

Somehow, I found myself back at Greenlake, or at least, what was left of it. I found the Mary Lou, forlornly flipped onto its front, and wanted to cry for the small, wooden, rickety boat. Company was the last thing I expected.

"Where's the treasure?" they kept asking me. The question made me laugh. Treasure? Who cares about some treasure. It just a meaningless, broken dream, having with it the ability to torment many generations to come.

"You better start digging." I said, amusement lacing my voice. Grasping the lizard in one hand, I bought it up to my wrist, air escaping my lungs in a short gasp as its fangs bit into my skin, its poison entered my body.

"I can fix that," Sam had been so fond of saying. Back then, when he'd still been alive, I had never been able to tell him what I really thought, a small smidgen of hope that "just maybe he could" always managing to hold me back. But now, as I slowly drifted into sweet, blissful relief, the thought swam unbidden to the forefront of my mind, echoing throughout the vast contours of my brain and journeying with me into death.

'This, Sam, I don't think you can fix.'


End file.
